


How to Deal with Your Sick Boyfriend

by baconhorcrux



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Sick Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconhorcrux/pseuds/baconhorcrux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, when I get sick, I get like, super fucking emotional about EVERYTHING. This is based off a true story from my life. Really. I have been Stiles in this situation. It's pathetic. But also kind of hilarious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Deal with Your Sick Boyfriend

Derek had known that moving in with Stiles would bring surprises. This is the same guy who once bought 200 limes because “they had a sale, Derek!” and then proceeded to have Midnight Margaritas for the next two months until the pack had an intervention. This is the same guy whose idea of asking Derek out was to dress up like a piñata and asking Derek if he “wanted to hit the piñata with your big stick”. This is the guy who slowly moved himself into Derek’s apartment and then broke the news to him by saying “I am never moving from this bed and you can’t make me because all my stuff’s here anyways”.

The point is, he knew living with Stiles wouldn’t bring many dull moments.

And yet somehow he’s still surprised to walk in to see Stiles lying on the floor, sobbing pitifully into the light beige (“it’s brown, Derek. It’s a dull, boring brown”) carpet, one of Derek’s body pillows clutched to his chest, and about a hundred used tissues crumpled on the various surfaces around him.

His first thought is, it’s the middle of the day, and Stiles is drunk. But then his senses catch up with him, and he realizes that, one, there is no scent of alcohol, two, no bottles of alcohol, and three, Stiles smells that weird combination of sweaty, snotty, and cold that comes with the flu.

He hangs his jacket on the hook by the door, toes off his shoes and walks towards his boyfriend. His sick boyfriend. His crying, sick boyfriend, who is starting to sing warbly to himself, not having noticed Derek come home.

“Stiles?” He maneuvers himself into the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table, crouching above Stiles’ head. “You okay?”

Stiles stops warbling. He blinks a few times, rubs at his eyes and then his nose. Slowly, he turns his head to look at Derek, amber eyes swimming in tears. “D’rek?”

It’s a struggle to not laugh at how pitiful Stiles manages to make his name. “What are you doing?”

“I – ” he looks around, seems to really take in his surroundings for the first time. His face scrunches up again, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “I messed up, Derek. I fucked up so bad.”

“What?” He leans forward, pushing Stiles’ hair – wet, sticking to his forehead from fever sweat – back from his forehead. He tries to keep his heart steady as he asks, “What are you talking about, Stiles?”

“I just – my throat hurts, and I’m coughing a lot, and I just wanted a fucking Ricola, Derek, that’s all. Then I dropped it, unwrapped, on the floor, but I was like, I’m already sick, yunno? What’s one floor Ricola? So I picked it up and put it in my mouth, but there was – there was some sort of, like fur on it or something, Derek, it was so gross, so I spit it out, but way too hard, and it rolled away and I can’t find it because it’s the same color as this stupid carpet.”

Derek tilted his head up, eyes closed as he tried to fight the urge to laugh.

“Derek?”

His shoulders shook with the effort. Don’t laugh, he told himself, don’t do it, don’t –

“Oh my god, are you laughing at me?” Stiles said, trying to sound indignant. His nose was too plugged up to really pull it off, though. “You are, you asshole, you’re laughing at me. I have the flu and you’re laughing at me!”

“No, Stiles,” he said, choking back a laugh, “I’m not – ” He looked down, finally, expecting an exaggerated frown on Stiles’ face. Instead, there were fresh tears spilling down Stiles’ cheeks and he was biting at his lips. He looked so pathetic the laughter died out of Derek immediately.

Settling down so his knees framed Stiles’ head, he brushed more of the hair back from his head. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Are you okay?”

And there was the exaggerated frown. “No. I’m so sick, Derek.” He turned slightly, pushing his head into Derek’s knee with a whine.

“I can see that.” Derek looked up around the apartment, at the disarray of used Kleenex and tea mugs and what looked like their entire medicine cabinet strewn across the dinner table. He’d been gone five hours and Stiles only had a sniffle when he’d left; how it could get this bad this fast was beyond him. But then, he was a werewolf; he’d never gotten sick.

“C’mon, how about I draw you a bath, with the nice oils I know you know I secretly hide in the back of the closet, and get you a new mug of tea, and then tuck you into bed?”

Stiles sniffed audibly, wiping his nose on Derek’s jeans. Derek tried not to grimace. “Would you read me a story?” he asked, turning slightly to look up at Derek.

“Yeah, Stiles,” he said, smiling softly. “I’ll read you a story.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my tumblr here: [yankeed00dledoctor](yankeed00dledoctor.tumblr.com)


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